the weight of shadows
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: Barty, Regulus, and this shifting world as told through snapshots.:: for Gabby


_For Gabby_

_Word Count: 4845_

* * *

_Eleven_

Barty's father's hand rests on his shoulder, calloused fingers digging into his skin as he leads Barty along the platform. His mother isn't there. She had wanted to see him off, but she's too sick today; Barty tries not to cry. It's the day he's been waiting for since his letter arrived. He can not, will not, ruin it with tears.

"Remember," his father says, steering him closer to the train, "these are dark times. Be careful who you make friends with."

And Barty knows. They've been over this a thousand times, and he knows the families he's meant to stay away from. He doesn't think it will be a big deal. Barty has always been a strange and quiet child, and he doubts he will make friends at all. Still, he offers his father his brightest smile. "I promise."

All he wants is to make his father proud. The man just huffs and releases him. There's no goodbye, no show of affection. His father nods curtly then turns on his heel and walks away, leaving Barty to deal with his trunk alone.

…

"Mind if I sit here?"

Barty shakes his head. The boy sits across from him, stretching out his long, thin legs. He wears a Slytherin tie as though he's already been Sorted, but he looks just as lost and nervous as Barty feels.

"I'm Barty."

The other boy smiles, revealing perfectly pearly white teeth. "Regulus," he says. "Regulus Black."

His stomach tightens. _Black_. His father has told him stories about the family. They're dangerous, one of the most dangerous families. Their insanity is infamous.

But Regulus doesn't look dangerous or insane. He is handsome and smiling, and that's good enough for Barty.

…

It breaks his heart to see Regulus Sorted into Slytherin. He had hoped to have a friend in the other boy, but a Slytherin _and _a Black? His father would never allow it.

"Crouch, Bartemius."

His whole body trembles as he makes his way forward. The Sorting Hat falls into place. There's no small voice in his head or great conversation. Within seconds, the Sorting Hat declares, "HUFFLEPUFF!"

…

It only takes a week for Regulus to corner him in the library. The Slytherin blocks the aisle so easily despite being so thin. Barty is backed into a wall with no way out. They are obscured by tall, dusty shelves, and even Madam Pince's sharp eyes cannot find them here.

Bart swallows, ready to beg for his life. He shivers, waiting for Regulus to draw his wand and cast some cruel hex.

Instead, Regulus pushes his hand through his dark hair, grey eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Did I do something wrong?"

All Barty can do is stare. It's not what he'd expected, and he waits, assuming his brain will catch up and he'll finally hear the insult. But there's only confusion and the faintest hint of pain in Regulus' eyes.

"I… What?"

Regulus sighs heavily and leans against the shelf to his left. His slender fingers glide over the spine of an ancient, battered book. "On the train it seemed like we were going to be friends," he explains. "You haven't even looked at me in a week."

That isn't quite true. He's stolen glances, always wondering while Regulus is alone. He has the good looks and charisma to be popular, but he seems to prefer solitude.

"My father would kill me if he knew."

Regulus snorts. "I'm asking you to be my friend," he says, "not my husband. I don't see why it's a big deal."

And maybe it's not. He thinks about the older Black sibling. His father had remarked how strange it was for a Black to be Sorted into Gryffindor. Maybe the family isn't so bad; maybe the individuals can prove the dark reputation wrong.

"Why do you want to be my friend?" Barty asks, suddenly cautious. It feels like a joke.

There's nothing special about him. He's already had his books knocked out of his hands and been pushed down the stairs. They call him a Ministry brat. His father is leading the charge against the growing war that's on the horizon, and that puts a target on his back. It's easy to be suspicious of Regulus now.

But the other boy offers him that bright and perfect smile again, and it's so easy to relax and feel welcome "Because," he says, shrugging. "You let me sit with you."

It's such a silly reason, and Barty can't help but laugh. Still, if all it takes to not be alone is a friendship based around a train seat, he'll take it. He nods and offers Regulus his hand. "Let's be friends."

With a grin, he accepts Barty's hand and gives it a brief shaken "Best friends," he agrees.

…

Barty thinks that Regulus loses the respect of some of his House because of their friendship. Regulus doesn't seem to care. He just smiles that smile and stays by Barty's side.

At least the attacks stop. Barty no longer has to fear walking down the corridor alone. Though some Slytherins still look at him clear mistrust in their eyes, and others hiss stinging insults at him, it's the first time Barty has actually felt safe.

…

His father sends a letter after a few months. His mother writes him every week, always eager to hear about his adventures. Barty lies to her. He doesn't have the heart to tell her that all he does is study and spend time with Regulus.

But his father's letter is infinitely more brief. There's no warm greeting, no interest in what he's up to. All he does is remind Barty to keep his grades up and ask him who he has made friends with.

Barty writes back and lies. He tells them that he and Theodosia Goldstein are the best of friends. Truthfully, the two of them are simply Charms partners, but they always exchange polite conversations. The Goldsteins are a good, honest family, and he thinks his father will be impressed.

When he sends his reply, he returns his attention to his father's letter. He's saved every letter his mother has sent, but this would feel so out of place. Hand trembling, he wads the parchment up and tosses it into the fireplace. For some reason, watching his father's words burn is so liberating.

_Twelve_

It happens the day before he goes back. His father talks about an arrest they've made, a relative of some sort to the Black family.

"Scum," he says. "All of them are nothing but scum."

Barty swallows dryly, his appetite suddenly torn away. Still, there's too much food on his plate for him to even hope to be excused. He keeps quiet and drags his fork across the roast.

"I wouldn't be surprised if even the Gryffindor goes bad," his father continues. "Merlin knows the youngest is bound to."

Barty takes a deep breath. He wants to defend Regulus, but he knows how dangerous it is. His father has a reputation at work for being nothing short of professional; even when faced with the nastiest, most ruthless criminal, he keeps his cool. At home, behind closed doors, however, it's a completely different story. Barty is all too familiar with his father's quick temper, and those angry outbursts that only ever seem targeted at Barty.

His mother and Winky try to make excuses for him. They talk about the stress he's under, about how he's a good man who is trying his best. They tell him he shouldn't hold it against him, but he does. All he's ever wanted is to be loved by his father, but his father never seems to have anything for him but coldness and distance.

He forces himself to take another bite of the roast. Even though he knows it's moist and smothered in gravy, it feels dry. He tries to swallow and feels like he may choke. Somehow, he doesn't, but his stomach knots and threatens to revolt.

"At least that's one thing we don't have to worry about with the boy."

Barty winces. _The boy. _He wonders if his father at least calls him by his name when he talks to his associates and passes himself off as father of the year.

"Keep out of trouble, you hear?" his father asks, finally directing his attention at Barty.

"Yes, Father." He sets his fork aside. "May I be excused?"

…

"Master Barty must be hurrying! We is going to be missing the train if we isn't careful!" Winky calls, bulging eyes wider than usual as she frets and fusses around him.

"We?" Barty asks, adjusting the knot on his tie. "Father isn't taking me?"

She shakes her head. "No, sir. Master Bartemius is having to go to a big meeting today."

It shouldn't hurt, and yet it does. He could have at least told Barty.

…

"Good summer, Barty?"

Meeting with Regulus feels strange in the best way possible. Something about him is warm and comforting, and he feels safe and free when he sees his best friend. Barty smiles. "It was okay," he says, because he doesn't want to admit that he's spent it studying and trying his hardest to avoid his father's rage and fury over difficulties at work.

Regulus stretches out, his back popping. He relaxes, folding his leg neatly over his thigh. "Mine was okay. Some distant relative was arrested last night, so Mother was furious."

He wonders if there's something in his face that gives him away. Regulus' eyes narrow, and his lips purse, like he sees something in Barty he doesn't like.

"Something bothering you?"

Barty swallows. He wants to say, but his brain is slower than his mouth. "Is it true?" he asks. "Your family is full of dark witches and wizards?"

For a moment, Regulus just looks at him, face stony and unreadable. Barty is afraid he might have said the wrong thing, but, a few seconds later, Regulus smiles his signature smile. "I think _full_ might be an exaggeration," he answers. "Sirius doesn't go any further than a few silly jinxes and hexes. I've never bothered with the rubbish." There's a pause, and he shrugs. "Hard to live in the shadows of my family."

Barty nods. He knows that feeling too well. His father is important, and he makes sure Barty follows in his footsteps. Sometimes Barty wonders what would happen if he just stopped, if he stood still long enough to choose his own path. Would things change at all?

…

Sneaking out is Regulus' idea. He tells Barty that Sirius and his friends do it all the time.

"I thought you weren't like your brother," Barty murmurs.

Regulus shrugs. "A few similarities won't hurt."

And Barty follows him. He isn't quite sure. It's the smallest of rebellions, and he loves it. If anyone catches him, if anyone sends a letter to his father, he's screwed. That thought should terrify him, and he's surprised to realize that it doesn't.

They end up on the platform of the Astronomy Tower. Barty likes it up here. During class, he will lean against the rail and fantasize about jumping and how freeing that would feel.

He doesn't do that now. Instead, he just sits underneath the starlight, side by side with Regulus. It feels just as liberating as his dreams of falling do.

…

They say the Dark Lord is gaining power. His father writes him sometimes. His last letter talked about extra precautions at work. As always, he warns Barty and tells him to be good, to keep studying, to stay out of trouble.

There isn't any concern in the letter. Barty wonders if his father actually cares what he gets up to, or if he's just thinking about the Crouch family's reputation.

Whatever the reason, Barty tosses the letter in the fireplace, watching as the orange flames reduce it to ash.

He is tired of being careful. While he is away from home, he will find his own way. Maybe he'll be able to live life for himself one day.

_Thirteen _

He slowly begins to understand why his father says these are dangerous times. The first attack he's aware of happens the summer before his third year. A dark wizard kills a Muggle family. The Auror that pursues him loses a duel and dies in some grimy alley.

His father looks angry when he comes home that night. When his mother tries to comfort him, he shoves her away and opens the liquor cabinet.

His parents never touch that cabinet except during special occasions, like when they're entertaining guests. His father doesn't bother with a glass. He plucks a bottle straight from the shelf and opens it, drinking deeply.

Barty watches from the hallway as his mother cries and begs his father not to go down this path again. He doesn't know what _again _means here, but be guesses it must be bad.

…

At the Auror's funeral, there is an appeal for constant vigilance. This world is growing darker. Everyone has difficult times ahead of them.

Maybe Barty should care. He doesn't.

…

"My cousin is a Death Eater now," Regulus tells him.

"Shhh! Are you insane?" Barty demands, looking over his shoulder. "You can't just go around announcing that."

No one is around to hear them, but Barty is still on edge. This is still an impossible friendship. One wrong move, and his father will hear about it, and it will come crumbling down.

Regulus doesn't look bothered by it. He just rolls his eyes, snorting. "It isn't exactly a secret," he says. "Everyone knew it was bound to happen."

"Which cousin?"

"Bellatrix."

That makes more sense. Whenever he talks about how hopeless the Black family is, his father likes talking about her. He calls her unhinged. Barty doesn't know if that's true, but he doesn't want to find out.

"Are you going to join them?" Barty asks.

"Don't be stupid. I'm a kid," Regulus says. "What business do I have with them?"

Barty shrugs, relaxing slightly. Regulus is right. They're just kids. This dark and terrible world cannot touch them.

"Slytherin will be looking for a new Seeker this year," Regulus tells him. "Will you cheer me on when I get it?"

That's all it takes for the atmosphere to shift. They relax into it, all talks of Bellatrix and war and Death Eaters forgotten within minutes. Quidditch and new classes are much more interesting anyway.

…

Regulus is like a god on the broomstick. Barty watches him with eager eyes.

In that moment, he realizes he doesn't look at Regulus the way a friend is supposed to. Maybe he wants something more from this. Maybe he's falling for his best friend.

…

Regulus takes up smoking. Barty doesn't ask how he manages to find cigarettes. It isn't his business, after all. The more important issue is wondering how Regulus makes such a filthy habit look so beautiful.

Regulus exhales a puff of smoke before tilting his head back and staring up at the starry sky overhead. "Do you ever wonder what the fuck we're even doing here?" he asks, tucking the filter between his lips again and taking a drag.

Barty laughs, not because it's funny but because he wonders that very thing constantly. In the end, he has no answer. He just feels like they're meant for something more.

If only he knew what.

"I mean it," Regulus says. "At the end of the day, what's it all for? Are we even living for ourselves?"

"I wish I was."

…

It's nearly Christmas before his father finally writes him for the first time. He tells Barty not to come home for the holidays. He and Barty's mother will be too busy with Ministry obligations.

And Barty is most definitely not crying. There's just something in his eye. He doesn't care about his father. He doesn't want to come home anyway. Why would he want to be there? What difference would it make at all?

He rips the parchment in half once, then twice, then again. The tears are unstoppable now. He shreds the parchment until his father's words are little more than the world's most pathetic confetti. Wiping his eyes on his sleeves, he throws the scraps into the fireplace.

For once, he gets no satisfaction from watching them burn.

…

"You're the only thing that makes sense anymore," Barty says with a sigh.

Regulus smiles at him. "I feel the same way about you."

_No, you don't, _Barty wants to say. Instead, he keeps quiet, staring at the rail of the tower. Falling would be so perfect right now.

"Can I tell you something stupid?" Regulus asks.

"Of course."

"I think I'm in love with you."

The words catch Barty off guard. It's one thing for him to have feelings for Regulus. How is it possible for those feelings to be mutual? Doesn't Regulus know what that means?

"Sorry," Regulus mutters. "I told you it was stupid."

Barty just kisses him, awkward and desperate, but he thinks that maybe the kiss says everything he cannot say.

_Fourteen_

His father barely comes home during the summer. Barty likes it better that way. Without his father, there's no one to yell at him, to remind him of his every shortcoming. Barty doesn't have to hide in his room and take refuge in the pages of a book.

"Your father is a good man," his mother tells him. "He loves you."

Barty thinks that love has made her blind. She is far too smart to not see that her husband is cold and detached, that Barty can't even remember the last time he told Barty he was proud of him.

He doesn't argue with her. She is frail and sick, and he thinks it might break her heart if she knew how he truly felt about the man she loves. Instead, he just smiles and hopes she can't see through it. "I know."

…

The _Prophet _theorizes that at least three dozen people have joined the Dark Lord. His followers have a name now. The Death Eaters.

Barty wonders why he is so fascinated by them, why his eyes automatically go to articles about them when he opens the newspaper.

Well, that's not quite true. Deep down, he knows. But he would never say it aloud. Instead, he clips the articles and hides them away.

…

"What do you think it's like to join the Death Eaters?" Barty wonders.

Regulus is his favorite hiding place. As the two of them sit in their compartment, watching the countryside blur by as they pass, he has no fear of judgment.

"I dunno. I thought that didn't matter," Regulus says. "We're kids. It doesn't affect us."

Maybe Barty wants it to. Maybe he sees it as the ultimate act of rebellion, the only way to keep his father's shadow from smothering him.

He just shrugs. "Yeah. I reckon you're right."

As the rain begins to fall, droplets splattering against the window, Barty can't help but to wonder.

…

The _Prophet _reports another death at the hands of the dark uprising. They say that there is nothing to worry about. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has their very best men and women on the case. There is no need to fear.

But Barty remembers his father's long nights spent at the Ministry. The rare times Barty saw him, his father looked drained and aged beyond his years. The liquor cabinet began missing more and more bottles, and his father began yelling all the time.

There are plenty of reasons to be afraid, he thinks, folding the newspaper and tucking it away. It's beginning to become painfully obvious that his father is backing the wrong side.

His eyes raise, searching for Regulus. His boyfriend sits beside Caspian Nott, and the two are deep in conversation. Caspian holds a copy of this morning's _Prophet, _and he looks at Regulus with pleading hazel eyes.

…

"You and Nott seem awfully close lately." Barty leans against the railing, keeping his back to Regulus.

"Don't tell me you're jealous," Regulus says with a snort.

"Hardly."

He recalls the way Caspian shoved the newspaper at Regulus like it was urgent. There have been rumors of Caspian going dark, and Barty wonders if there's any validity to it. He doesn't know how to ask.

"We're friends," Regulus says. "Do I have to recount every conversation with all my friends?"

"Who said I want you to?" Barty snaps.

"You're ridiculous."

…

It takes a month for them to make up. Barty spends thirty days missing Regulus like crazy but too stubborn to admit it.

Regulus apologizes by shoving Barty against the wall in an abandoned corridor and kissing him until Barty's lips begin to swell.

"I love you," Regulus growls in his ear, his tone low and desperate and so vulnerable that Barty's heart nearly breaks.

"I love you too."

…

Barty doesn't go home for Christmas. His father doesn't tell him to stay at Hogwarts. Barty makes the choice for himself.

It breaks his mother's heart, and maybe he hates himself for that, but he feels free.

He is independent and doesn't have to listen to anyone. Only he can control his destiny.

_Fifteen _

His father becomes more frantic. Barty rather likes watching him spiral. It makes him feel powerful to see how weak and pathetic the old man really is.

But he is still dangerous. Barty can see the manic glee in his eyes when he talks about rounding up the Death Eaters. He says he'll pass the strictest laws, that he'll make them all pay.

"The world will change again, boy," his father says when he catches Barty watching him from the shadows. "Mark my words. I'm going to set things right again."

…

Fear is everywhere. The Ministry issues official statements cautioning everyone against going out alone. New laws are put in place. There are even whispers of an underground group that's actively fighting against the Death Eaters.

Even so, the darkness still spreads. Another Auror dies. Barty's fathe talks about more and more raids. The world is upside down.

Barty sort of likes it.

…

Winky takes him school shopping. His mother is too sick, and his father is too busy.

"Master Barty has to be staying close," the house-elf squeaks. "Master Bartemius be saying that it is dangerous out here!"

If it's so dangerous, why did his father send him out with a house-elf? Winky is great. She has served his family well as long as he can remember, and he knows that house-elves have their own brand of magic. Even so, Winky is not particularly powerful.

She also isn't observant. It is easy to slip away and disappear down Knockturn Alley. He doesn't dare enter any shops. He keeps his head down, careful not to draw too much attention to himself.

He just wants to know what it's like. The dark energy radiates from every window display, and he finds himself smiling. This is all the proof he needs that he doesn't belong in the perfect little world his father has planned for him.

When Winky finds him, he lies and says he took a wrong turn. He wonders if she believes him. As she scolds him, she doesn't call him out for lying. He'll take that as a good sign.

…

Regulus isn't in their usual compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Barty tries not to take that personally, but it hurts a little bit.

He stretches out, resting his long legs in the chair across from him. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation. Regulus loves him. This isn't the end, and they aren't breaking up.

It doesn't take long for him to grow restless. He climbs to his feet and slowly moves along, peeking into each compartment.

Regulus is at the end, in a compartment with Caspian Nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Jebediah Goyle. The four of them are deep in conversation, and Barty catches a quick flash of black on Crabbe's forearm. The pieces fall into place.

He turns and hurries back to his compartment.

…

Regulus never brings it up. He apologizes for not riding with Barty, but he doesn't offer any explanation.

He's wearing long sleeves now, even though it has been a warm autumn. Barty doesn't ask; he already knows.

"It's fine," he says with a shaky smile. "Absolutely fine."

…

He wonders what his father would think if he knew the truth about Regulus. He would hate it. Maybe it would even be enough for him to finally wash his hands of Barty.

The thought makes him shiver with excitement. Truthfully, if at all possible, it makes him love Regulus even more.

…

"You're always studying," Regulus says, a hint of a whine in his voice.

"Some of us are taking more OWLs than the average person," Barty says simply.

"Boring!"

Madam Pince chooses that time to walk past their table. "Shh!" She shoots them a withering glare.

"Sorry," they murmur in unison.

The moment she's gone, Regulus leans in closer, his voice barely audible. "I have something more interesting for you to do," he says.

Barty rolls his eyes. "I'm sure you do."

"I miss you, Barty."

He resists the urge to snort. Regulus has a funny way of showing how much he misses Barty. They don't sneak out the way they used to. They see each other less and and less, and it hurts Barty more than he'll ever admit.

"Are you mad at me?"

Barty wants to tell him yes, but he can't. Instead, he just sighs and scratches his quill over his parchment.

Finally, after several moments of pointed silence, he looks up. "I miss you too."

…

Things go back to normal. At least, as normal as they get. They fall back into their routine of sneaking out and hiding atop the Astronomy Tower, bathed in starlight.

"What's it all for?" Regulus wonders, sending ashes drifting over the rail.

"What?"

Regulus shrugs. "Any of it."

He has become more withdrawn lately. Barty can guess why, but Regulus is still keeping it a secret. The sleeves don't lie. Likewise, he has spent more and more time with Nott and the others. Barty _knows. _

He wants to be a part of that world. More than anything, he longs for a chance to prove himself, to be so much more than what his father expects him to be.

He is too afraid to ask that of Regulus. Not now. Not yet. Maybe someday.

…

"That was easily the worst examine ever," Regulus groans.

"I dunno. I thought it was sort of fun."

Regulus rolls his eyes, a teasing, affectionate grin tugging at his lips. "You would. I've never seen anyone as good at Transfiguration as you are," he says. "I bet you could give McGonagall a run for her money."

Barty shrugs. "Yeah. Maybe."

"Something wrong?"

Barty considers for a moment. He still doesn't know how to give a voice to the small things that have been bothering him. Regulus isn't ready to talk, and Barty will not push it.

"I'm fine." Barty smiles. "Fancy a walk by the lake?"

Regulus takes Barty's hand gently in his own. "I thought you would never ask."

_Sixteen_

His results come back. It's the first time in a long time that his father has actually looked proud of him. "See what happens when you apply yourself, boy?" he asks. "Keep your nose clean and surround yourself with the right kind of people, and you'll go far."

Barty wants to laugh. If he only knew.

…

There's no denying it now. The world is changing, and Barty loves it. It's dangerous and chaotic, and Barty has never seen anything more beautiful.

He's tired, so bloody tired of living life in the shadows, never being part of the action. He wants more from this life, and it's at his fingertips. All he has to do is reach.

…

Their first night back, they're on the Astronomy Tower once again. Regulus doesn't even have a chance to light the night's first cigarette before Barty corners him.

"I know you joined the Death Eaters."

Regulus swallows, the muscle in his neck visibly shifting at the movement. "Your father been filling your head with conspiracies?" he asks.

"I worked it out for myself," Barty says. "I want to join."

"You're mental."

Barty shakes his head. This is the moment he's been waiting for his whole life. He can finally escape his father's shadow. All it takes is one small choice, and he can finally be free.

"Please."

Regulus sighs before finally lighting his cigarette. "Do you know what you're risking?"

"Yes. And it doesn't matter. I need to do this. I _have _to."

"I want better for you."

"How can I have better when you're the best thing that's ever happened to me?" Barty asks.

Regulus shrugs. "At least I'll have you."

And somehow that is enough.


End file.
